I blame the vacuum cleaner.
Ever since I got that thing, I have been obsessing even more than usual over specks on the rug. I've also been wanting to wash everything. Clothes, bedsheets, my husband's gym bag. I want things to be clean and in its place. I will not put the breakfast sandwich maker away until I am assured that every speck of stray food has been cleaned off, even if I have to dig between the grooves with a bread knife.
See, when my mom and dad moved into their new house, I made fun of my mother for being a maniac about keeping things completely unscathed. If she discovered a scuff mark or if there were any moisture left behind on her counters...oh, Lord. Even before then, she would start wanting to clean up at inopportune times, like, if we were about to go somewhere, she suddenly wanted to dust the side tables and water the plants. Like, do you have to do that now? Can't it wait? But now, scarily, I realize that I understand.
The day I got that vacuum cleaner, I opened up the box, put it together like a G and the next day, I vacuumed the heck out of everything in sight. I self-deprecatingly joked with husband about how obsessed I am with vacuuming and keeping everything spotless now, and he jokingly said, "Uh-oh, you're becoming like your mom," and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh. Snap.
Like, you see your parents as these idiosyncrasy-laden, yet lovable people and think you're worlds apart from them. "Our lives are so different, Mom. Don't compare things now to how they were when you first met Dad. Gosh, by the time you were my age, you had three kids already." Oh, Mom. Eye roll. But then you're faced with this feeling of inevitability, this worlds-apart-from-you momness slipping from between the cracks unbeknownst to you into your subconscious actions, inescapable, the momness ingrained in you, manifesting itself as a result of your Mrs-ness. Before you can even ask yourself What am I doing? you've already unthinkingly done it.
Today, I had to put our brand new comforter set on the bed, and I had to wash the old sheets (and therefore, I had to wash everything else that needed to be washed). I had to do it today. In the middle of fluffing out the new comforter and putting the new decorative shams on the pillows, I felt this mommy feeling. I felt almost like I was watching myself go through these domestic motions with the same "maniacal" determination that I used to ridicule. Like, someone was saying See? Now you see, don't you? And all I could say in response was How else could I have known?
Friday, May 29, 2015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
On the 10th Day of Marriage...
Settling in. Still waiting for the marriage certificate to arrive. That new shower curtain and those burgundy rugs makes the bathroom look almost palatial. New toaster (4 slices!), new blender (husband's morning shakes), an electric can opener, a waffle maker, fluffy towels, and on and on. Let me tell you: I sliced a lemon with a new knife so sharp it was like cutting with a miracle. Jesus turning the water into wine with lemon wedges. Bed Bath and Beyond go hard, tho.
Then husband put together our little three-tiered shower caddy like a little fix-it husband putter-togetherer. And then drinking coffee out of our matching Mr. and Mrs. mugs. And reading our little couples' devotional. And going WalMart shopping and including his particular little likes: bananas, clementines, reduced fat Wheat Thins, unsalted pretzels, and I even threw in a Hamburger Helper for good measure.
I'm in vacuum cleaning heaven. Shark. Not the sharp-toothed water-dweller, the vacuum cleaner (and I just found out that husband says "sweeper" for vacuum cleaner) that has super suction, seamless swiveling, a lift-away feature for easier access along with attachments for crevices and upholstery that will bring tears of joy to your dust-despising eyes.
Leftover rehearsal dinner chicken parmesan. Froze those buddies up before the honeymoon. Come back, defrost, enjoy. But most of all, leftover rehearsal dinner pumpkin bread pudding. That cream cheese icing on top, all gooey and good.
Waking up, seeing him open those sleepy, little boy eyes (he looks like a little boy when he first wakes up) and an immediate smile spreads across his face when he sees me watching. A freckled arm wraps around me and holds me close. I notice the color of his freckles is the same color as my skin. I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.
Then husband put together our little three-tiered shower caddy like a little fix-it husband putter-togetherer. And then drinking coffee out of our matching Mr. and Mrs. mugs. And reading our little couples' devotional. And going WalMart shopping and including his particular little likes: bananas, clementines, reduced fat Wheat Thins, unsalted pretzels, and I even threw in a Hamburger Helper for good measure.
I'm in vacuum cleaning heaven. Shark. Not the sharp-toothed water-dweller, the vacuum cleaner (and I just found out that husband says "sweeper" for vacuum cleaner) that has super suction, seamless swiveling, a lift-away feature for easier access along with attachments for crevices and upholstery that will bring tears of joy to your dust-despising eyes.
Leftover rehearsal dinner chicken parmesan. Froze those buddies up before the honeymoon. Come back, defrost, enjoy. But most of all, leftover rehearsal dinner pumpkin bread pudding. That cream cheese icing on top, all gooey and good.
Waking up, seeing him open those sleepy, little boy eyes (he looks like a little boy when he first wakes up) and an immediate smile spreads across his face when he sees me watching. A freckled arm wraps around me and holds me close. I notice the color of his freckles is the same color as my skin. I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
0 Days
0 days.
So, this is my last blog post as a single woman.
Guess I'll finally have to change my blog's tagline. "Newlywed girl meets postmodern world"? Nah. Doesn't have the same ring.
Part of my blog's theme heretofore has been the ups and downs of singlehood. Being a single girl has been part of what's given my blog its particular character since I started it in 2005. Now, 10 years later, here I am, packing for my honeymoon and not getting any sleep because I'm too nervous and excited.
While I'm beyond ecstatic about getting married and sharing my life with someone I love, I feel like it's the end of an era.
Here's to new beginnings.
So, this is my last blog post as a single woman.
Guess I'll finally have to change my blog's tagline. "Newlywed girl meets postmodern world"? Nah. Doesn't have the same ring.
Part of my blog's theme heretofore has been the ups and downs of singlehood. Being a single girl has been part of what's given my blog its particular character since I started it in 2005. Now, 10 years later, here I am, packing for my honeymoon and not getting any sleep because I'm too nervous and excited.
While I'm beyond ecstatic about getting married and sharing my life with someone I love, I feel like it's the end of an era.
Here's to new beginnings.
Monday, May 11, 2015
5 Days
5 days.
Marriage license obtained. All that's left to do is for Pops (officiating) to sign it with the power invested in him after the ceremony and abracadabra, we're legally married. It was so weird. Like, all this time wanting to get married and now when I have the license in hand, no turning back, I'm like...excited, but at the same time, not able to fully grasp it somehow.
I made a veggie pizza that is ridiculous. Sauteed some green, yellow and orange bell peppers (on sale at Kroger), sliced up a tomato (on the vine) and along with the usual tomato sauce and mozzarella base, topped all my ingredients with a little bit of extra shredded mozzarella and crumbled goat cheese. Ridic.
Still haven't even gotten started on writing my vows. What am I doing? My fiancé is a super duper vow writer, almost done with his, and here I am, a lazy sack of non-vow-writing bones. I'm just praying that I get hit with a jolt of inspiration really really soon.
This is what I know. It. CANNOT. Rain. No, ma'am and no, sir. All the nawls there ever were in the negative no of not. It cannot. It can NOT. The 10 day weather report talking all this yang yang right now and I'm going to need it to stop. I rebuke weather.com and its weather report being used of the adversary talking about some scattered thunderstorms. Oh, no it ain't. I shall believe the report of the Lord. I claim clear skies in Jesus' name. If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it. I am asking (for real) right now, in Jesus' name for no rain on my wedding day.
Here's to inspiration and clear skies!
Marriage license obtained. All that's left to do is for Pops (officiating) to sign it with the power invested in him after the ceremony and abracadabra, we're legally married. It was so weird. Like, all this time wanting to get married and now when I have the license in hand, no turning back, I'm like...excited, but at the same time, not able to fully grasp it somehow.
I made a veggie pizza that is ridiculous. Sauteed some green, yellow and orange bell peppers (on sale at Kroger), sliced up a tomato (on the vine) and along with the usual tomato sauce and mozzarella base, topped all my ingredients with a little bit of extra shredded mozzarella and crumbled goat cheese. Ridic.
Still haven't even gotten started on writing my vows. What am I doing? My fiancé is a super duper vow writer, almost done with his, and here I am, a lazy sack of non-vow-writing bones. I'm just praying that I get hit with a jolt of inspiration really really soon.
This is what I know. It. CANNOT. Rain. No, ma'am and no, sir. All the nawls there ever were in the negative no of not. It cannot. It can NOT. The 10 day weather report talking all this yang yang right now and I'm going to need it to stop. I rebuke weather.com and its weather report being used of the adversary talking about some scattered thunderstorms. Oh, no it ain't. I shall believe the report of the Lord. I claim clear skies in Jesus' name. If ye shall ask anything in my name, I will do it. I am asking (for real) right now, in Jesus' name for no rain on my wedding day.
Here's to inspiration and clear skies!
Wednesday, May 06, 2015
10 Days
10 days.
Huge stack of final exams cackling at me, daring me to even start grading them. I have a half-baked online class waiting for me to click, add, upload, screencast. Students emailing me making up stories about how they neeeeeed to get into this online Spanish I class to graduate. Really? In no existing program at this august university does anyone need Spanish I to graduate. Get outta here with that.
One last session of marriage counseling scheduled tomorrow. Why does it make me so nervous? Why is the idea of the ceremony still making me so nervous? Why can't I peacefully exist and peacefully and gratefully usher myself into my blissful, perfect, prized life as a happy, blissful perfect wife? Why can't I be gushingly happy and wake up every morning shedding tears of gratitude, thanking my lucky stars that I finally found a man and that he's so cute and that he's gonna be my BFF for life and we're going to be happy in our little happy happy life and have cute, fat little happy babies who are going to be SO BEAUTIFUL since...you know.
My wedding dress. What is it going to look like? Omigawd. And the marriage license. And what kind of shoes am I going to wear? And, Dad, do you like this song for our father/daughter dance? Are you guys going to sing? Omigawd. Can you imagine me trying to sling a guitar strap over my wedding dress? Please. He'll play and sing, but I'm just going to sing. And what are my colors going to be? And can children come? Oh, I'm so sorry I forgot to RSVP. Can I still come? Rehearsal dinner. Rehearse and then dine. Lingerie shower. A shower of lingerie. Omigawd. There's the big day, but the big night is coming up, too. Heh, heh. Hint, hint. Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're so funny and original. I'll go ahead and say it, since it's so funny. Sex. Wedding night = sex. My husband and I are going to have sex. We're getting married so we can have sex. There. I said it.
Announcement to my enlightened colleagues: Yes, I have made the heart-wrenching decision to succumb to the hegemonic clutches of the white, male, straight, privileged, racist, classist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, capitalist, colonialist, nationalistic, fascist, murderous, douchey, bromancified, American-speaking, fratboyish, beer-drinking patriarchy to change my last name. I shall lay down my maiden name, the name of my truest self, the name that represents my authenticity as a real woman (even though it, too, was forced upon me by the patriarchy) and sacrifice it as a martyr to the cause of fully becoming a subservient sellout.
I don't want to just want my wedding day to come and be done with. I don't want to want that. I want to enjoy it. I want to tell the contradictory, worrying, hyperactive, dramatic, obsessive part of my brain to calm down and shut up and chill out and please, just for once, let me live.
Huge stack of final exams cackling at me, daring me to even start grading them. I have a half-baked online class waiting for me to click, add, upload, screencast. Students emailing me making up stories about how they neeeeeed to get into this online Spanish I class to graduate. Really? In no existing program at this august university does anyone need Spanish I to graduate. Get outta here with that.
One last session of marriage counseling scheduled tomorrow. Why does it make me so nervous? Why is the idea of the ceremony still making me so nervous? Why can't I peacefully exist and peacefully and gratefully usher myself into my blissful, perfect, prized life as a happy, blissful perfect wife? Why can't I be gushingly happy and wake up every morning shedding tears of gratitude, thanking my lucky stars that I finally found a man and that he's so cute and that he's gonna be my BFF for life and we're going to be happy in our little happy happy life and have cute, fat little happy babies who are going to be SO BEAUTIFUL since...you know.
My wedding dress. What is it going to look like? Omigawd. And the marriage license. And what kind of shoes am I going to wear? And, Dad, do you like this song for our father/daughter dance? Are you guys going to sing? Omigawd. Can you imagine me trying to sling a guitar strap over my wedding dress? Please. He'll play and sing, but I'm just going to sing. And what are my colors going to be? And can children come? Oh, I'm so sorry I forgot to RSVP. Can I still come? Rehearsal dinner. Rehearse and then dine. Lingerie shower. A shower of lingerie. Omigawd. There's the big day, but the big night is coming up, too. Heh, heh. Hint, hint. Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're so funny and original. I'll go ahead and say it, since it's so funny. Sex. Wedding night = sex. My husband and I are going to have sex. We're getting married so we can have sex. There. I said it.
Announcement to my enlightened colleagues: Yes, I have made the heart-wrenching decision to succumb to the hegemonic clutches of the white, male, straight, privileged, racist, classist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, capitalist, colonialist, nationalistic, fascist, murderous, douchey, bromancified, American-speaking, fratboyish, beer-drinking patriarchy to change my last name. I shall lay down my maiden name, the name of my truest self, the name that represents my authenticity as a real woman (even though it, too, was forced upon me by the patriarchy) and sacrifice it as a martyr to the cause of fully becoming a subservient sellout.
I don't want to just want my wedding day to come and be done with. I don't want to want that. I want to enjoy it. I want to tell the contradictory, worrying, hyperactive, dramatic, obsessive part of my brain to calm down and shut up and chill out and please, just for once, let me live.
Monday, May 04, 2015
12 Days
12 days.
We've almost paid everyone we need to pay. People are still secondhandedly announcing their possible intentions to come when the RSVP deadline was April 15. We got galvanized buckets on sale for 50% off at Hobby Lobby to line the aisles with baby's breath and/or sunflowers. I never imagined that buying buckets on sale would ever be even marginally tied to any sense of personal satisfaction.
We're writing our own vows. I haven't even gotten started on mine yet. Of course my guy is well on his way to finishing his, despite the many other papers and projects he's working on now. He's such a poetic, creative soul. I love that about him. It's overwhelmingly endearing and super sexy at the same time. I mean, I was proposed to with an original song and poem. I'm sorry, but nothing can top that. I am completely convinced that I have the best proposal story ever. I have a creative side, too, but I'm just so...sort of floating around in the ether right now. I need to find the presence of mind to do it. Soon.
I don't know why, but we're this close to The Big Day, and I still can't picture it. Like, I still can't wrap my mind around wearing a wedding dress and walking down a grassy aisle on my father's arm. I can't picture standing below a sunflower-entwined dark wooden arch with a lily pad pond in the background while we say our vows. I can't imagine riding away in a horse-drawn carriage with my new husband. All of these things are going to happen. But it still doesn't seem like it is going to happen. For some reason, in a way, I know they're going to happen, but it feels like they're going to happen to someone else.
I'm trying to enjoy this time and not let my temporary dissertation-writing hiatus get to me, but I can't help it. I am a non-productive helium balloon while my fiancé is a well-oiled, paper-typing, project-finishing machine. I've spent the past few days eating apple cinnamon instant oatmeal and watching BuzzFeed videos while he's been running statistical analysis of his "tokens" on R. I know that once the wedding is over and we get back from our honeymoon, I will have to kick it into gear. I'll be teaching an online class, writing an additional chapter and editing a manuscript for a professor. I'm just in this cloudy otherworld right now and I just have to accept the fact that I'm in it and will continue to exist in it for a little while longer.
While there's a part of me that feels this nebulous almost detachment, there's another part of me that is experiencing this heady, adrenaline-laced sense of expectation. Every time I look at him, I have this impulse to examine him to the point of abstraction. How his freckles sprinkle over his upper cheeks. A couple of eyebrow hairs that are lighter than the rest. Long, dark lashes blinking slowly. That scar on his right elbow. His dimple on the right cheek. His fingers are more than twice the size of mine. I wear a ring size 4. He wears a size 11. He has this way of biting the corner of his bottom lip. Somehow, each of these mundane details are like tiny miracles.
We've almost paid everyone we need to pay. People are still secondhandedly announcing their possible intentions to come when the RSVP deadline was April 15. We got galvanized buckets on sale for 50% off at Hobby Lobby to line the aisles with baby's breath and/or sunflowers. I never imagined that buying buckets on sale would ever be even marginally tied to any sense of personal satisfaction.
We're writing our own vows. I haven't even gotten started on mine yet. Of course my guy is well on his way to finishing his, despite the many other papers and projects he's working on now. He's such a poetic, creative soul. I love that about him. It's overwhelmingly endearing and super sexy at the same time. I mean, I was proposed to with an original song and poem. I'm sorry, but nothing can top that. I am completely convinced that I have the best proposal story ever. I have a creative side, too, but I'm just so...sort of floating around in the ether right now. I need to find the presence of mind to do it. Soon.
I don't know why, but we're this close to The Big Day, and I still can't picture it. Like, I still can't wrap my mind around wearing a wedding dress and walking down a grassy aisle on my father's arm. I can't picture standing below a sunflower-entwined dark wooden arch with a lily pad pond in the background while we say our vows. I can't imagine riding away in a horse-drawn carriage with my new husband. All of these things are going to happen. But it still doesn't seem like it is going to happen. For some reason, in a way, I know they're going to happen, but it feels like they're going to happen to someone else.
I'm trying to enjoy this time and not let my temporary dissertation-writing hiatus get to me, but I can't help it. I am a non-productive helium balloon while my fiancé is a well-oiled, paper-typing, project-finishing machine. I've spent the past few days eating apple cinnamon instant oatmeal and watching BuzzFeed videos while he's been running statistical analysis of his "tokens" on R. I know that once the wedding is over and we get back from our honeymoon, I will have to kick it into gear. I'll be teaching an online class, writing an additional chapter and editing a manuscript for a professor. I'm just in this cloudy otherworld right now and I just have to accept the fact that I'm in it and will continue to exist in it for a little while longer.
While there's a part of me that feels this nebulous almost detachment, there's another part of me that is experiencing this heady, adrenaline-laced sense of expectation. Every time I look at him, I have this impulse to examine him to the point of abstraction. How his freckles sprinkle over his upper cheeks. A couple of eyebrow hairs that are lighter than the rest. Long, dark lashes blinking slowly. That scar on his right elbow. His dimple on the right cheek. His fingers are more than twice the size of mine. I wear a ring size 4. He wears a size 11. He has this way of biting the corner of his bottom lip. Somehow, each of these mundane details are like tiny miracles.
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